


The Heist

by Sjips



Series: Rolin Trash [3]
Category: Hatfilms, The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, M/M, Mobscast, Rolin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3865513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sjips/pseuds/Sjips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I do good work, my name has gotten around in this new city, and many new clients are coming to consult with Ross Hornby: P.I.<br/>When you work as a Private Eye, you get all sorts of people coming into your office with all sorts of problems.<br/>But I could never have predicted what was to come from today's client...</p>
<p>(Hatfilms Rolin Noir AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude to a Kiss

He sauntered into my office like a tiger stepping into an orphanage.  
Tallish, lean, and athletic, he was attractive in a muscular-and-I-know-it kind of way. His dark hair fell in a perfect set of wavy curls swept back from his brow. He was a bombshell and I was his target.

After working in this line of business as long as I have, you just get hunches about these kinds of people.  
I could tell at a glance that there was more to this man than met the eye. The brightly polished wingtips, gleaming from beneath heather grey suit pants, spoke of wealth. The stranger’s grey overcoat was finely woven, and the glimpse of the suit jacket and bright lilac shirt beneath the waistcoat spoke of flamboyance and a sense of style.  
To be honest, the lilac was rather ugly, in my opinion. But I digress.

Meanwhile I was dressed in my shirtsleeves, suspenders, and plain tan pants. No need for anything fancy, I never could have afforded the quality of clothes he was wearing anyhow.  
He fiddled with the trilby in his hands as I scrutinized him. My secretary vets all my potential cases, and briefs me each morning so I know what I’m getting into. But still, seeing this one in person is different somehow.

I lean back in my chair, and smoothly swing my feet up to rest on the desk. I slouch a little, and eye my client.  
Clients were usually looking for just the right air of “don’t care.” I found that putting my feet up, coupled with the messy office, the secretary with a propensity for smacking her gum, and keeping a hipflask of brandy to hand generally won them over. Half the battle is the right first impression.

 

“So, have a seat, eh…” I pause for effect, squinting at him. I know his name, but the façade of the haphazard private eye has to remain intact.  
“Colin.” He supplies, sinking down into the leather chair I have specifically for clients.  
He offers no last name, I don’t ask.  
“Right. Well, your circumstances are particularly… Unique.” I roll the last word off my tongue, watching his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“Yes. Well, I figured as much.” Colin has a Latin American accent that tinges his words with a soft rhythm, like the rolling of ocean waves. “There aren’t hundreds of men in… positions like mine.” He ends his sentence with a smirk, his eyes flashing with something like mischievous intent.

I make a noncommittal noise. Inwardly I squirm, but outwardly I am still.

_Damn, this man and his piercing eyes._ I think to myself. _You are Ross Hornby, P.I. You aren’t going to be unsettled by a few glances._

“People with stories such as yours don’t typically come to a Private Eye.” I observe, steepling my fingers and watching his reaction. “They go to the police.”

Nary a flinch; He’s cool as an iceberg.

“My circumstances are unique.” He tosses the phrase back at me with a dangerous smile. “Let’s just say that while I respect the law, I also know when I need someone who isn’t necessarily impeded by certain aspects of it.”

I raise an eyebrow. There are several reasons I’m not particularly well liked by the boys in blue, one of which is my convenient disregard of some laws.

“And I hear you’re the best dick in town.” He smirks, using the archaic term, but also managing to add an undercurrent of lewd proposition to his words.  
Two can play that game.  
I let out a snort of laughter. “Yeah, I tried not to let news of my… Abilities get around, but apparently my reputation precedes me.” He smiles, but his eyes retain an almost predatory hunger. Like I’m the prime rib and he’s a starving castaway.  
His eyes stray across my face, like he’s trying to puzzle out my secrets.

Good thing my poker face is excellent.

A pause.

“I also think we have a mutual… Ah, acquaintance that’d we’d both seeing leave for somewhere far, far away.” He leans forward, placing his elbows on the desk and looking straight at me. “A one way journey, to the big house.”  
He wrinkles his perfect brow as he pauses for thought. He’s weighing his words carefully. I like him better for it; a measured word is better than an hour’s blabber sometimes.  
“You have my attention.” I drawl, meeting his piercing green stare with a nod. “Go on.”

Colin leans in closer, speaking in a low tone.  
“The man of my… Close acquaintance,” He imbues the phrase with lascivious intent, “is none other than Ridge, the Dog, the head Don of this city.”

I keep a straight face, though this news surprises me.  
I knew Colin was something of a kept man, you could practically see it in the cut of his clothes, but the personal male escort of the head Don? This was getting more interesting by the second. This could finally be a chance to make it big!  
I have to keep my cool. _He could be playing you, Ross._ I think to myself. _Don’t jump in feet first. Feel him out._

“So.” I broke the brief silence. “You expect me to believe you’re really the gigolo of Ridge the Dog?”

“Yes.” Colin says. “I am risking my life even telling you that I know him. Indeed, I know him well enough to know where he keeps certain… Incriminating documents of a secretive nature.”

“Let’s cut the dramatics.” I sigh, bringing my legs off the desk with a thump. “Stop dancing around the point and tell it to me straight.”

“Well, I’m not sure if I can tell it to you straight.” He laughs briefly. “I mean, seeing as I’m queer. But I’ll get to the point.” He fidgets with his hat again, uncertainty writ across his face.

I wave a hand at him, motioning to continue.

“Ridge has some rather… Compromising photographs of myself in the bathtub.” Colin explains. “I’d like to have the negatives.”

“Have you tried just asking him nicely?” I say sarcastically. Erotic photographs? This hardly seems worth my time. (Though the thought of the handsome stranger in a bathtub… Hmmm).

“I asked him once.” Colin replied blandly. “It bought me a set of bruised ribs and a sprained wrist.”  
I wince. Ridge isn’t one to trifle with it seems.

“He has these photographs stored with documents outlining his smuggling enterprises.” Colin continues. “I saw them once in the safe of his nightclub.”

“Hmm. Well now you have me intrigued.” I murmur, drumming my fingers on my desk. Ridge is well known for his vast smuggling empire, and notorious for his ability to slip through the fingers of every cop and P.I.’s from here to Saigon.  
Ridge is bad news- slippery as an eel coated in grease. If I could nail him, get enough evidence to toss him in the clink, I’d be rolling in clients from here to doomsday.

Colin reaches out, stopping my drumming fingers.

“I want out.” He says simply. “I’m not safe anymore, I want to leave this life behind, but I can’t. Not while he has the negatives. I’ve burned every copy I could find, but he’s blackmailing me with them so I’m forced to stay with him.” His grip tightens on my hand. “I don’t expect you to understand why I got myself into this position,” he continues, “But I need your help, your expertise. For once, assure me chivalry isn’t dead.”

I look deep into his eyes. I can’t shake the feeling he’s sincere.

I can sense this won’t be easy. Stealing documents from a safe, especially a safe owned by a notorious mobster…?

I’m caught between my sense of self-preservation and my need to help this handsome man.

Suddenly realizing we’ve been sitting, holding hands for minutes I hastily remove my hand from his, standing and turning to face the window behind my chair. His touch left me confused, I have to take a moment and clear my head.

I watch the cars go past on the city streets below.

I have to help him. Somewhere deep in my gut, I can’t turn him away. Even if it’s a difficult job, I’ve got to try and help this man.

I always was a sucker for sick puppies as a kid. Scaring off the bigger dogs or the kids trying to tie tin cans to their tails, bringing them home and taking care of them. I’m a bit of a softy after all. But it doesn’t mean I’m stupid.

I turn to face him.

“We have a deal.”  
I hold out my hand for a shake. After a pause, Colin takes it.

His skin is warm and dry against my palm, and he doesn’t let go.  
I swallow as his intense green eyes search my face. I see something like hope blossom in them as he studies my face, his eyes boring into my own.  
Something in them softens slightly, and he pulls my hand forward, pulling my torso forward towards him from across the narrow desk. His other hand reaches around the back of my neck, resting gently against my collar.

“That’s too plain a way to seal this deal.” He murmurs, our faces almost touching, his breath fanning against my cheek. “I owe you more than a handshake.”  
“I don’t really know.” I mumble, lost for words. Is this really happening? But I don’t resist. Something in me knew from the moment he walked into my office we were bound to get to this point.

“Shhh.” He hushes me as I’m about to speak again. Removing his hand from my neck he runs it gently across my cheek, reassuring me.

This close I can see the flecks of dark green in his iris’; the way the light skims across his caramel-colored skin; the slight freckles dusting his nose.

Slowly he leans forward, as if he’s afraid I’m some skittish wild animal that’ll run at any moment. I lean forward as well, and our lips meet.

We’re kissing, and sure it’s a little awkward half leaning across my desk, but it’s also good, and something about it is very very right.  
His lips are smooth and firm, and he tastes faintly like peppermint.  
I don’t know who exactly opens their mouth, or whose tongue begins exploring uncharted territory first, but it is all very very right.  
Somehow we shift, I don’t know exactly, and I’m sitting on my desk while he leans into me, and my hands are fisted in his stupidly flamboyant lilac shirt.  
He’s very good, I feel almost intoxicated, and I want more. I tug him closer; heedless of how I’m wrinkling his shirt.  
He pulls away first, blinking his green eyes and smiling. I’m out of breath, almost dizzy. I rest my forehead against his, shutting my eyes, breathing in the scent of him.  
His fingers trace patterns against the fabric of my shirt, toying with the suspenders I’m wearing.

“Is the deal now properly sealed?” I murmur.  
Colin laughs low in his throat. I can feel it rumble from where I still have my hands against his chest.  
“Yes,” He says, “I think it’s very well sealed.” He captures my lips again in a kiss.


	2. Night and Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So tomorrow.” Ross said, pulling back on his pants, his button down shirt unbuttoned, open at the sleeves, rumpled. “My two mates will come by the club.”

“Night and day, under the hide of me  
There's an oh, such a hungry yearnin' burnin' inside of me  
And its torment won't be through  
Till you let me spend my life makin' love to you  
Day and night, night and day…”

The singer croons the lyrics. Smoke swirls around the darkness of the nightclub, the gentle buzz of conversation is an undercurrent to the jazz band.

I roll the liquor in the glass, watching the amber liquid swish against the sides. I’m trying hard to keep still, to tame the nervous shaking that made me want to kick my heels against the table leg.  
 _Coming here tonight was all part of the plan._ I reassure myself. _Ross knows what he’s doing…_

My mind flickered back to the previous afternoon.  
-

“I’ll send a couple of boys over tomorrow evening.” Ross said, trying ineffectually to smooth the wrinkles he inflicted on my violet shirt. “They can be trusted, and I need some eyes on the inside.”  
“I don’t really understand why I couldn’t-” I am interrupted as Ross places a finger on my lips.  
“No. It’s too dangerous for you.” He said, “Ridge already knows you want out. He can’t find you sneaking about, or else there’s a one way trip in the river with a pair of cement boots.” He bites his bottom lip, genuine concern on his face.

“Trust me.” He says, “This is to keep you safe.” His hand lingers on my face as he studies me.  
I nod. “But I can’t do nothing…” I say, “I’m not willing to just be rescued like some damsel in distress.”

“Stubborn bugger.” Ross sighs, but he can’t keep the amusement out of his eyes. “Fine. You just need to stay close to Ridge. Keep an eye on his movements tomorrow. Distract him, if need be.”  
“Hmmm.” I hum, “And what kind of distraction did you have in mind?” I leer at him, leaning forward and invading his space.  
“Oh.” Ross’ eyes flicker with something like surprise and desire, “I’m sure you can think of something.” He smirks at me, a challenge. “You seem a creative sort.”  
“Creative, eh?” My eyes flicker down to his mouth.  
“Yeah.” Ross smirks, and steals a kiss.  
-

I snap back to the present when a hand caresses my shoulder.

“Well, well, lover.” A male voice purred in my ear. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight…”  
I don’t even need to look to know who it is.  
“I thought I would surprise you.” I murmur, my eyes still on the liquid in my glass.  
“Come now… No need to be shy.” The man says, and reaches under my chin, forcing my head up with a single finger.  
I meet the deep brown eyes of Don Ridge the Dog. The underworld’s most notorious smuggler, the bloodthirsty butcher, the man with the entire city under his thumb. But mostly, he is the man who holds me captive.  
I can see in his eyes he thinks he’s won. The fact that I’m back in his nightclub, back in his territory, he thinks I’ve given up.

My blood boils.

“I’m glad to see you back here, the place doesn’t have half the charm without you.” He laughs, releasing my chin and smoothly sitting in the chair opposite me.  
A waiter hurries over.  
“Gin and tonic,” Ridge instructs, waving a hand full of heavy rings at the waiter. “And you, Colin?” His mouth caresses my name inappropriately. I suppress a shudder.  
“Another whiskey, please.” I say, “On the rocks.”  
The waiter nods and leaves.

Ridge hums deep in his throat.  
“Whiskey, Colin?” There’s amusement in his tone. “You usually drink cocktails.”  
“I decided it was time for a change.” I say simply. This statement is true, it applies to more than just the drinks, however.  
Ridge smiles, seemingly amused with my answer. It is as if I’m some puppet to be controlled; any autonomous actions of mine are endearing. He treats me like I’m a dog performing a trick to please its master.  
He leans back in his chair, the picture of a king on his throne. The master of his domain. His eyes study me like I’m a side of meat on display at the market.  
I glance past him at the band playing in the background, the people dancing, anywhere but directly at him.

“Colin.” He says, in an almost sing-song way.  
I snap my gaze back to him.  
“I was thinking, maybe, we’d take a long weekend off…” His eyes burn into me, “Maybe go down to Miami, take a little time to ourselves.” His smile is wolfish, predatory. Immediately I know exactly what kind of weekend he has in store.  
My skin crawls at the thought of his hands against my bare skin, his mouth skimming, devouring, dominating. This weekend isn’t about “us.” It is about him using me.

I struggle to keep my cool exterior.

Thankfully the waiter arrives with our drinks. I hold onto the cold glass of whiskey, willing myself to remain calm.  
Ridge waves the waiter away impatiently, and takes a drink of his gin and tonic, still expectantly awaiting my anticipated “yes.”

I am but an automaton to him. He has already decided what my answer will be.

I open my mouth, I have to say yes, but I can’t. I can’t just agree to spend a weekend with this monster, even if it’s an empty promise.

I am spared from answering by the sudden arrival of Ridge’s right-hand man, Paco. Immediately I am pushed aside as the talk turns to an urgent “business matter.” It probably has to do with cement boots. I muse to myself, finding it darkly humourous.  
The nightclub is busy, I note abstractly, scanning the surrounding tables. Suddenly I pause. Sitting at a table by themselves are two men. One with a neat red beard, and the other a skinny man with a mess of floppy brown hair. There is a yellow carnation in the shorter man's’ lapel.

-

“So tomorrow.” Ross said, pulling back on his pants, his button down shirt unbuttoned, open at the sleeves, rumpled. “My two mates will come by the club.”  
I am lying on his bed, the crisp white sheets wrapping around my waist. “Mmhm.” I mumble, watching the planes of his muscular back shift and strain against the cotton shirt.  
“One of them will have a yellow carnation in his lapel.” He said, looking around for his belt. My clothes and his are scattered on the floor, intermingled haphazardly. “The other has a red beard.” He kneels down by the bed, looking under the mattress.  
“Hmmm.” I say, admiring the curvature of his ass in the tight pants.

Ross sits up, his hair flopping in his eyes as he regards me.  
“You’re not listening at all, are you?” He says, his blue eyes bright.  
“Yeah, yeah.” I say, leaning over and kissing his forehead. “Yellow carnation. Red beard. Now come back to bed.” I smirk at him.  
Ross laughs, and clambers back onto the bed, and captures my mouth in a kiss.  
-  
I swallow. There they are. Ross’ eyes for the evening. They are here to find the safe, take note of Ridge’s henchmen, memorize the layout of the nightclub, observe the place.  
But they can’t look around quite yet.  
Because Ridge isn’t quite distracted. Not yet.

The man with the red beard makes eye contact with me. He nods, almost imperceptibly. I raise my glass and take a drink, then fiddle with the flower in my own lapel, and remove it. I nonchalantly set the white carnation on the table, and glance back at the two men.  
That’s the signal. They can look around starting now, I will do my utmost to distract Ridge the Dog.  
I pray a petition to Madonna that they are efficient, and that Ridge will keep his attention on me.  
I swallow down my fear and turn back to Ridge, still talking to Paco.  
“Ridge.” I purr at him. “Why do you have to talk business tonight?” I try my best to pout, to flirt. “I do dislike when your work interferes…” I eye Paco meaningfully.  
Ridge smiles at me, predatory and sharp. He reaches across the table and takes my hand, caressing it. “You’re right.” He says, and dismisses Paco with a wave. “I am a beast to ignore you, my flower.”  
I smile at him, but inside I am afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!  
> Sorry for the long wait! Life aways seems to get in the way of fic, you know?  
> More updates soon, I promise. (:
> 
> Chapter Mood Music:  
> Night and Day  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCDXp2Zaoig


	3. Everything But You

The knock on my door breaks through my thoughts. I put down the revolver I’m cleaning, and peer out the peephole.  
Outside, Trott is laughing, half leaning on Smith, and the taller man is no less jovial.

I swing the door open, and greet the two men.  
“Smiffy, Trott, come on in! I take it you were successful?” I ask, smiling, ushering them into the small hallway of my apartment.  
“Yeah mate!” Smith drawls, “successful isn’t half the word.” He hands me a roll of papers. Blueprints, most likely, drawn by him.  
“You wouldn’t believe the place.” Trott enthuses, “It’s huge!”  
“Much the opposite of your dick, Trotty.” Smith smirks, and is rewarded with a punch to the shoulder by an amused Trott. I shut the door behind them, listening to their playful banter as they wander to the living room.

“Let’s get down to business.” I laugh as I lay out the blueprints on my coffee table.  
Trott crosses to the tiny wet bar, pouring drinks for the three of us.  
The drawings are surprisingly detailed, I whistle appreciatively. “Nice job here. I take it you weren’t interrupted.”  
Trott pauses, and snorts a laugh. “We almost got caught.” He admits. “Right near the end, when we finally figured out where the safe was, bam! Ridge is at the door!”  
I draw a breath, and wonder about Colin. I guess he couldn’t hold Ridge’s attention. Something in me is relieved.  
“Hey now, it wasn’t that bad.” Smith says, “And besides, that Spanish son of a bitch was a godsend, practically sucking Ridge’s face off.” He laughs.

_Colin._ I blanch.  
Smith doesn’t notice, continuing on.

“Damn if he wasn’t practically doin’ him right in the hall.” He takes a drink, pointing to the hallway outside the office on the blueprints. “It sounded as much, with the moaning. I never knew Ridge had a penchant for dirty language.” He leered at Trott. “Isn’t that right, Trotty?”

Trott hands me a glass filled with ice and liquor. I can barely hold onto it. They continue talking. My skin is on fire, my stomach clenches. I can’t get the vision of Colin kissing someone else, Colin moaning someone else’s name, Colin’s hands on someone else’s skin out of my mind.

Damn. Damn me, damn Colin, damn Ridge.

“Uh. Ross.” Trott is speaking. “Hello Ross, earth to Ross. You okay buddy?”  
I snap out of my thoughts.

“Ah. Yeah.” I mumble, trying to hide the shaking of my hands. “Yeah, just tired. Gotta study these prints.” I motion to the table.  
Trott nods slowly, chewing on his lip, a nervous tic.  
“Smith!” He calls into the kitchen, where the taller man has disappeared. “Come on, stop raiding Ross’ fridge, we should get back home.”  
He lays a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“Get some rest Ross, you do seem a little… Tired.” He finishes lamely.  
I nod, hardly noticing when they depart a few minutes later.

All my thoughts are of Colin.

I need to get drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter mood music:
> 
> Everything But You - Duke Ellington  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbJReERhRhk


	4. I’m a Fool to Want You

I am going to get roaring drunk. The bottle of scotch in my hand is heavy, a friendly weight.  
Really, I hate scotch, but this is no time to be picky.

I run a hand through my hair, trying to banish the thoughts of Colin in Ridge’s arms, Colin pushing him against the wall, Colin’s mouth on him, Colin, Colin, Colin!  
I take a slug of scotch straight from the bottle.

I can’t believe I was such a fool. It’s obvious now, he was playing me like a two bit fiddle in a minstrel show.  
He was just using me to get the photographs, and move on to his next set of toys.  
Colin’ll get his jollies from me, from Ridge, from anyone. That’s just who he is.

Did they fuck after Trott and Smith left? Right there on Ridge’s desk? Colin bent over, moaning, his skin slick with sweat.  
The image taunts me and I’m loathe to admit it, but I’m half hard at the idea of Colin bent over a desk.

I hate it.  
I’m attracted to Colin, I can’t deny it.  
I hate him.

I’m burning with jealousy and anger and betrayal, and the buzz of alcohol in my head is less comforting and more like a swarm of hornets.

I take another drink, adding to the countless swigs of Scotch I’ve already had. The bottle’s empty?  
I stumble up from the couch, my tie untied and slung loosely around my neck. I pull out a bottle of whiskey, try to pour a glass but my hand is unsteady; I spill a little.  
Guess I’ll stick to just the bottle.

Images from yesterday afternoon and evening spring unbidden to mind. Colin and his lavender shirt in my office; Colin’s breath whispering across my bare skin; the way he moaned when I found a particularly sensitive spot on his neck; we were like horny teenagers stealing back into the bedroom of my apartment. (Good gods how am I supposed to sleep in that bed anymore).  
I feel like I want to cry.  
Instead I take a slug of whiskey that burns all the way down.

I’m a good third of the way through the whiskey when there’s a knock at the door.  
I stumble up from the couch, nearly knocking over the bottle onto the blueprints on the table.

Maybe it's Smith back again? Or Trott?  
 _S’probably Smiff._ I decide.

“Oi Smiffy?” I call, lurching down the hallway towards the door. “I’m comin’ mate.”  
It seems like my legs have minds of their own and I half lean against the wall for support. Was it just me, or did the hallway seem longer than usual?  
“S’good you’re back mate.” I call through the door when I get there, fumbling with the deadbolt. “I wass jus’ toastin’ what an abso-absolute tit I am. Could use your company man.” I hiccup.  
“Yeah, you wouldn’t believe it.” I continue, now absorbed in trying to remove the chain from its place. “That Spanish git I told you about,” I finally manage the get the chain off, and throw the door open. “Tah-dah!” I exclaim happily, proud I got it open.

The man stumbles inside. 

I sober up a little.

“You’re not Smith.” I say, looking into green eyes I know all too well.  
“No.” Colin agrees. “I’m not.”  
He is half soaked from the rain, his trenchcoat collar pulled up to offer some measure of protection against the storm outside. He slumps against the wall, his head down.  
I shut the door.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here.” It’s not a question. I can barely look at him, barely contain the sudden rush of hatred and lust.  
“Uh-” Colin begins.  
“No. Never mind. I don’t want to hear it from you.” I struggle not to slur my words, suddenly cursing myself for drinking so much.  
“What’s going on Ross?” Colin says, his voice tinged with fear. “What are you talking about?”

I bark a short laugh.

“I heard you had your fill earlier with Ridge.” I spit at him, “And now you’re here to take advantage of me? Well I’m not someone to be trifled with.”  
“I don’t understand what you mean.” Colin says. “I’m not trifling with anyone, Ross.” I simultaneously love and hate him saying my name.

“You practically fucked him in the hallway outside his office.” I say, “Trott and Smith told me all about it.” I frown at him, I can’t see his eyes in the darkness of the hallway; it bothers me.

“The only reason I did that was so your friends could get away,” Colin says, but he still didn’t meet my eyes. “He was about to find them in his office, so I did the only thing I could think of. I hated it.”

My anger lessens. I can tell he’s sincere.

It still doesn’t change the sudden rush of jealousy over the fact he doesn’t deny it; that he admits he gave his body to Ridge.  
“So you did fuck him.” The knowledge somehow makes me both depressed and jealous.

“Do you think I enjoyed it?” Colin says in a low voice, breaking through my agitated thoughts. “Do you think I enjoyed the way he treats me like some object for his base desires?” His voice is sharp and sarcastic.  
“Do you think I like being fucked and treated like I’m some piece of trash to be used again and again and never loved?” His voice cracks on the last word, and he looks up, meeting my gaze.

I breathe in sharply. The left side of his face is a mess of bruises, his eyes filled with pain and fear and exhaustion.

I am frozen.  
Colin finally starts to take off the wet coat. He struggles a moment, easing it off his shoulders and onto the floor. He isn’t wearing his suit jacket, just a canary yellow dress shirt and grey pants. The shirt is torn in a couple places.

He keeps one arm around his middle, cradling his ribcage gently.

“You see, Ross,” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “This is what I did tonight so your friends could get away. I knew he’d do this from the moment I kissed him in the hallway.”

I can barely breathe.

“I knew I had a choice,” His voice broke again. “It was either let him take me tonight, or both your friends would be dead right now.”  
I cross the short distance between us in two strides, and pull Colin into my arms.

He draws in a sharp intake of breath.

“ _Madonna._ ” He mutters, “ _Ya valí madre…_ ”

“Christ, what a fool I am.” I say, letting him go, realizing there’s more injuries I can’t see. “You’re hurt.”  
He smiles, but again it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Lean on me.” I say, putting an arm gently around his middle. “Let’s get you to the bathroom.”

Somehow we make it in one piece, Colin half leaning, half stumbling; me still somewhat drunk, filled with guilt.  
He doesn’t speak again. He seems to have slipped into a catatonic state, not really here anymore.

Under the bright lights of the bathroom Colin looks even worse. Haggard, with bruises on his face, he’s aged about ten years.

I pull him close, so most of his weight is resting on me, and start to gently unbutton his shirt.  
My hands skim his ribcage as I pull the shirt away from his torso. He breathes in sharply and tries to pull away.

“Shhh,” I say, “It’s just me. It’s just Ross.” He hums, his head a solid weight resting against my collarbone. Finally he relaxes. I finish unbuttoning his shirt.

When I finally have Colin stripped down to his boxers I can see he has bruises running across his ribcage, and down his arms. His face has bruises down the left side, and there are hickies on his collarbone.

Somewhere deep in the pit of my stomach I feel a deep rage for the man who did this to him.

I run a cool bath for Colin, hoping it will lessen the bruising. He seems better than before, a little more present. He still hasn’t snapped out of it completely, but his eyes are focused, and he can manage short answers to my questions.   
I gather up his ripped clothes and leave him to his bath.

Outside the bathroom I lean against the wall and sink down to the floor. I swallow back a sudden rush of tears, and bury my head in my hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter mood music:
> 
> I'm a fool to want you  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iNgy5zDtW-s


	5. It’s Easy to Remember (But so Hard to Forget)

The first thing I really notice is the way the rough cotton of the bedsheets brushes against my skin, against my arms, my legs. The way the cotton rustles as I shift. I grunt at the sudden pain across my torso, the stabbing ache across ribcage and muscle.

The bed dips as someone sits behind me on the bed.. A wary hand brushes my shoulder.  
“... Ross?” I whisper.  
“Mmhm.” He answers, his hand gentle on my skin. “I’m here.”

I sigh.

“You okay?” He asks, caution in his tone. “I don’t think your ribs are broken. ‘Least, far as I can tell.”  
“Yeah.” I say. “I’m okay. It just hurts, that’s all.” I manage to roll over and face him, groaning again, and wincing slightly at the strain on my body. Even small actions hurt.  
Concern is writ large on his face. He bites his lower lip, studying me.  
“I’m… I’m so sorry.” He says hoarsely. “I said those awful things I didn’t-” His voice breaks, and he rubs a hand across his face.

“Hey.” I reach over and grab his free hand. “It’s okay.”  
“No. It’s not.” He says, and squeezes my hand. “After you… And Trott and Smith… And you’re hurt. I’m such an ass. I’m so sorry.” He sighs, his eyes search my face.  
There are dark circles under his eyes, his hair is mussed, his skin pale.  
 _Madonna,_ I think to myself. _He’s beautiful, even with guilt half killing him._

“Ross…” I sigh.  
He half smiles down at me, still guilty.  
“You might be a bit of an ass.” I continue, “But you just… Jumped to a conclusion. Everyone does that now and again.”  
“... I s’pose.” He says cautiously. “I’m still sorry. So, so very sorry, Colin.”

“It’s alright.” I say. “I forgive you.”

A pause.

“Come to bed Ross.” I whisper, giving his hand a squeeze. “I want you with me. I’m lonely.”  
He smiles down at me fully.  
Ross stands, releasing my hand, and starts to unbutton his shirt.

I watch abstractly as his slender fingers undo buttons; as he shrugs off the plain white shirt, tossing it to the ground; he undoes his belt, and in a fluid motion steps out of his pants.  
He’s beautiful, tall and muscular standing there in the moonlight. He stretches his neck with an audible pop, and yawns. He makes eye contact with me, his blue eyes bright even in the dusk of the room.  
I move over slightly as he joins me in bed.  
We’re facing each other, breath intermingling, holding hands, legs entangled.

Time passes with us like this, neither sleeping.  
I shift closer, tucking my head against his chest.

“So.” Ross says suddenly. “You’re from South America, yeah?”  
“Um.” I hum, “Yeah. But, I mean, why do you ask?”

“... I don’t know, I mean we weren’t talking and I just…” Ross pauses. “I don’t know.” He admits with a laugh. “I just thought we should maybe talk about something.”  
I laugh. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.” I mumble into his collarbone, my voice muffled. Ross laughs.  
I pull away a little, reaching a hand up to trace his cheekbone.  
“Yes. I’m from South America.” I confirm. “Argentina to be precise.”  
“Tell me about it?” He asks, leaning into my hand.

“Well.” I pause, thinking. “I was born in Buenos Aires. They call it ‘the Paris of South America,’ you know?”  
Ross hums, prompting me to continue.  
“I was never rich.” I pause again, “My mother raised me, my father was never there. I lived in the slums. We were poor, but we were happy.  
“I used to play in the streets with other children my age. We’d play in the evenings, in the twilight, when the heat of the day abated. We’d run and play tag, and everyone knew each other. We had honorary aunts and uncles, grandmothers who told us stories, grandfathers who spoke about farming. It was a lovely time.”  
I pause, my hand stills against his skin.  
“But then my mother died.” I say. “She was visiting relatives in San Juan when the earthquake hit. At 13 I was an orphan.”  
I swallow, still feeling the pain of that loss years later.  
“I had to get a job.” I whispered. “I tried everything I could think of, delivering newspapers, shining shoes… Anything.  
“And then one day, when I was 15, a man noticed me. He was older, a real gentleman. He took me under his wing, practically adopted me.  
“He was rich. I didn’t know then what I know now, that he was a professional lover. And he chose me to continue his legacy. He taught me to read, he taught me to tell the soup spoon from the tea spoon. How to hold a conversation. How to be a good lover.”  
“Wait, what?” Ross breaks in, “You were… Servicing men at 15?!”  
“Well. No.” I start to explain. “It started out with teaching me to read. I would shine his shoes every week at the same hotel, and we would talk. One day he gave me a book to read, and I had to explain I couldn’t...” I could still remember the disbelief in his eyes.  
“Hm.” Ross comments, “So… First he taught you to read, then he taught you to give handjobs?”  
I laugh.  
“No, no.” I continue, “He taught me to be a gentleman first. Then he explained how he made his money, and if I tried I could be more successful than him. To an 18 year old who grew up poor as dirt, the chance to be richer than Croesus was too alluring.” I smile at the memory.  
“And then when I was 19 he died. He was like a father to me, he gave me a chance in the world. But I was still relieved when the funeral was over. It was too somber, too sad.  
“So I spent the next few years traveling around South America. I had enough money to support myself without… Taking on any customers, if you understand.  
“But sooner than I expected, the cash ran out.” I sighed.  
“And that’s when I met Ridge.” At the mention of his name, Ross stiffens.  
“Damn him.” He hisses.  
“Shh” I soothe, and I kiss his cheek.

“He made an offer I couldn’t refuse.” I said. “He’d absolve all my debts and take me away to America. It seemed perfect.”  
I shut my eyes, as if trying to shut out the memories.  
“Things were alright for a long time.” I say. “He really just left me alone, sometimes he’d ask me to accompany him to an event. Things only became more… Serious in the last year. That was after he took the photos and started using them as leverage.”  
I swallow, remembering the many nights Ridge had spent with me.  
“He was always careful not to leave any visible trace.” I whisper. My throat constricts, but I have to get the words out. I can’t stay silent anymore

I struggle against tears, my voice is gone.

“Shhh, shh, it’s alright.” Ross’ voice is gentle. “I’m here. It’s going to be okay.”  
I sigh against Ross’s neck.  
He curls himself closer to me, protecting me with his body, his life.  
“We’re going to get you out of this.” He breathes. “I promise. He won’t lay another finger on you.”

I believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Mood Music:
> 
> It’s Easy to Remember (But so Hard to Forget)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_Lwd7RovYg


	6. Luck be a Lady

There are three steps to a good heist… 

Step 1:  
Ross would make his way to the main breaker behind the coat check, and flip it at twenty past the hour.  
His hand hovered on the switch. He checked his watch.

I knew from the moment I hit the lights there’d be no turning back. My watch read 8:18, and I could hear the band playing. I trusted that Trott and Smith had made their way backstage, and were ready with their commotion, whatever it was.   
We’d rehearsed a thousand times, I knew in the rush of patrons leaving the nightclub no one would notice a lone stranger making his way back to the office. The path to the safe was clear in my mind, just a few steps away.  
8:19. I thought about Colin. I remember seeing him in the main room a few minutes ago; he flashed me a small smile. He’d meet me in the office once he gave Ridge the slip in the commotion.  
8:20.  
I swallowed.  
My hand hovered on the switch, then pressed it down.  
Showtime.

-  
Step 2:  
Trott and Smith would make their way backstage to create a commotion in the darkness that would make the patrons leave in a hurry.

-

“Oi, come on mate!” Smith said indignantly. “You really think you’d keep us out of a caper this big?!” He punched Ross’ shoulder.  
“Yeah, he’s right.” Trott smirked. “We’re coming with you whether you like it or not. It isn’t every day you get to put one over on Ridge the Dog.”  
Ross felt the tension leave his shoulders.  
“Happy to have you two on board.” He grinned at his two friends. “Let’s get down to it, then.”

-

Smith had a bad habit of humming or whistling whenever he was nervous. After so many years together Trott knew him like the back of his hand; so when Smith started humming softly in the darkness of the night club’s backstage, Trott reached over and took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.  
“ ‘Nother escapade.” He murmured in Smith’s ear. “Just like old times.”

“Yep.” Smith agreed, and continued to hum.

“Luck be a lady tonight?” Trott questioned. “Bit on the nose, mate.”  
Smith shrugged.

Trott peered through the curtains, looking out across the band into the audience.  
“Almost 8:20.” Smith whispered.  
Trott nodded, and gave Smith’s hand another squeeze.  
“You got the firecrackers?” Smith asked.  
“Yep.” Trott said, “Lighter?”  
“Yep.” Smith held up a silver lighter.

The lights in the club suddenly went out, various ladies screamed, the band stopped playing, unable to see their music.  
“Looks like that’s our cue.” Smith whispered.  
“Let’s cause some mayhem.” Trott agreed.

-  
Step 3:

Colin’s part in all this was simple- clear the way of any guards by telling them they were needed out front. He was well known and trusted by Ridge’s henchmen; they would listen to him. After they left their posts, the way was clear for Ross to reach the office.  
He could hear the firecrackers in the main room, but they became more and more muffled the further into the bowels of the club he went.

I was surprised at how easy it was, really.  
Just a honeyed word here, a declaration of alarm there, and the muscled thugs hurried off to contain the crowds.  
8:23. Perfect timing. I had only to slip around to Ridge’s office, open the door, and wait for Ross. They key to the safe was in the desk’s secret drawer, it was only a few more moments till freedom.  
I rounded the corner at a steady pace, and nearly stopped dead.  
Paco was outside Ridge’s office.  
I swallowed, and hurried on. I had to get him out of here!

“Paco!” I greeted him urgently. The noise of the commotion wouldn’t have reached him back here. “There’s been some problem with the lights! The patrons are practically rioting, Ridge needs you out there!”  
I see Paco’s eyes widen.  
“Oi! Meister Ridgedog?!” He questions. “He sent you to find me? Mon dieu, it really must be terrible out there.”  
He leaves his post.  
“Stay here Meister Colin,” He instructs. “You are too delicate to withstand the crowds!” He lumbers off in the direction of the club entrance.  
8:25. Not a moment too soon.  
I walked to the door of Ridge’s office, and eased it open.  
The interior was dark and empty.  
I slipped inside, and shut the door behind me.

A hand slipped around my mouth, muffling the yelp I let out.  
“Hello, lover…” A voice hissed in my ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Mood Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=si_gaMUumKY


	7. 'Round Midnight

Ross moved quickly down the hall, trying to squash down his nervous inner monologue. Everything had worked thus far, the last part was the simplest. Just grab the negatives and get out before the police. Colin was in the office waiting, they’d crack the safe and be on their merry way. As long as I can keep it together. Ross thought, and wished he hadn’t left his flask at home. He could use a splash of liquid courage.  
 _Third on the left._ He thought to himself, and paused before the office door. It was slightly open, and it looked like there was a candle lit inside. Colin was already there, it seemed. Everything was going right. It would be fine.  
Ross gently pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

“Ah. So good of you to join us.” A voice spoke. “Be a dear, and close the door behind you. And lock it. We don’t want to be disturbed.”  
“Do what he says Ross.” Colin said, whisper-quiet, his eyes wide.  
Ridge was sitting on his desk, a dangerous snub-nosed pistol aimed at Colin who was standing beside him.

Ross eased the door shut, and turned the heavy lock.

“Have a seat.” Ridge gestured lazily to the chair next to Colin. He looked dangerous in the candlelight, his eyes gleaming like a predator in the jungle. “I believe Colin has something interesting to tell you- ah, ah, no going for your gun now…” Ross swore under his breath, and stopped midway reaching for his concealed revolver.  
He walked to the chair and sat down slowly.

“Now now Colin, do I need to motivate you anymore….” Ridge smiled, his eyes hard.  
“What?!” Ross broke in, as Colin started to speak. “Whatever you’re doing, you sick bastard, you’re done hurting him.”  
Ridge just smiled his slick smile, and waved the gun at Ross.  
“Tut, tut.” He said, “No speaking out of turn. Not after I set up this lovely atmosphere. Candlelight is so romantic, I’m not even angry you shut off the lights.” Ridge purred the last part. Leaning forward, he traced the cold barrel of the revolved against Colin’s bare neck.  
“Go on…” He smirked, as Colin shivered.

“Ross.” Colin began, and swallowed nervously. “I can’t stay with you anymore. It’s all over. I never lov-” He choked on the word a little  
“Go on.” Ridge said, with a savage smile, prodding Colin’s arm with the gun. “Like we rehearsed.”  
“I never loved you.” Colin looked anywhere but directly at Ross. “It was all just a game that Ridge was playing with you. All of it.”  
Was this real? Had it all been a game?  
Ross was flummoxed, and nothing made much sense. It couldn’t be the truth!  
Colin was still speaking, and Ridge was watching him with a smug grin on his face. Ross tried to contain the rage inside, they’d been so close to succeeding… 

Then he noticed. Colin might not be looking at him, but he was looking at something. Specifically, the large candle sitting on the far edge of the desk burning dangerously close to the wastebasket full of papers.  
Colin finally made eye contact with Ross, and then looked back swiftly to the candle.  
Suddenly Ross understood.  
If he could just distract Ridge for a moment, Colin could knock over the candle, and they’d be plunged into darkness. Perfect.  
Colin finished his little speech, and Ridge withdrew the revolver from his throat.  
“Good boy.” He smiled. “Now then, to finish off this little lovers’ spat, so some of us can continue with their lives. After all, what’s a better end than the police finding the two of you dead, taking each other’s lives in a moment of desperation!” He seemed gleeful, as if he was describing the plot of a radio drama.  
He raised his gun, aiming it at Colin’s temple.

_Think faster Ross, think faster!_

“Well. If that’s how it’s going to end, I guess I should commend your sense of drama.” Ross said, forcing himself to adopt a nonchalant tone. “But you seem to have forgotten something. Something important...” He trailed off, looking down at his nails, inspecting them lazily.

Ridge paused, taken aback by Ross’ tone.  
“No, no that’s impossible.” He said, looking a little confused. “After all, this is my club. I control everything happens here. This is how it ends.” He grinned.  
“No, no, I know you missed something.” Ross insisted. “Something big.”  
“Well then, tell me.” Ridge said, “Or…. I’ll shoot Colin.”  
Colin’s eyes widened, he stared at Ross as if to say what are you doing?!  
“Well… I suppose I can tell you.” Ross sighed. “After all, it wouldn’t be fair if you killed him, and then found out what I’m going to tell you.”  
“Yes? Get on with it.” Ridge said impatiently.

“Alright.” Ross said, and leaned forward, as if he wanted to whisper it to Ridge. “Well, you should know…-” And he leapt forward, tackling Ridge against the desk.  
Colin knocked the candle over, and it landed on the papers, catching them alight.  
The room was darker, but the light from the flaming papers scattered shadows against the walls, showing bits and pieces of the scene.  
Ross struggled against Ridge, trying to wrestle the gun out of his grasp. Colin moved to the safe, which was ajar against the wall, desperately searching for a weapon.  
The gun went off once.  
Ridge snarled, swearing, heaving against Ross, who pinned him against the wooden desk, struggling.  
Out in the hallway, the sound of many footsteps running made Colin pause. It must be the police!  
The gun went off again, Ridge managed to slip out from under Ross.  
“You son of a bitch.” He swore, his hair dishevelled and blood pouring from his now-broken nose. He raised his gun as if to fire at Colin, his eyes wild in the light of the flames. “Your time is finally up.”

Colin heard the gunshot, and shut his eyes, waiting for the impact.  
Nothing came.

But he heard the thud of a body in front of him.  
And the clicking of an empty gun.  
And the sound of frantic banging at the office door.

He opened his eyes.

Ridge flung down his now empty revolver, turned from the office door and leapt into the plate glass window, making his escape.  
The office door was flung open, Smith and Trott hurried in, talking loud and fast.  
The fire was starting to burn out of control, having moved onto the desk and drapes.  
But all Colin could see was Ross’ body in front of him, prone on the floor.  
Ross had taken a bullet for him.  
There was a rushing in Colin’s ears, he felt faint.  
 _Was…. Was he? He had to be? It wasn’t possible-!_

Smith was kneeling by Ross now, taking his pulse and yelling something at Trott. Trott was pulling on Colin’s arm. Smith swung Ross’ body over his shoulder, and started off down the hallway. Trott and Colin followed.

Once they were outside, down a few blocks from the club, Colin darted away from the sidewalk, into an alley, and threw up. He sunk down on his knees, feeling well and truly sick.  
Ross was dead. He knew it.  
He realized Trott had followed him as the smaller man soothingly rubbed his back, speaking all the while.  
Finally Colin realized what he was saying.  
“... -ike I was saying we never realized he was still in the office, but when you two weren’t at the rendezvous point we realized something was up. And it looks like we got there just in time, a few more moments and Ross would’ve bled out, as it is now it seems like he’ll be alr-”

“He’s not dead?” Colin managed to choke out, startled.

“No.” Trott said, “No, he’s not. Not yet anyway, but we should get back to Smith before he strangles him for being such a dunce! I mean, really, he could have thrown something else in the path of the bullet… Hey wait up!”  
Colin had already gotten to his feet, shakily trying to hurry to the car they’d left up the street.  
He could see Smith was half kneeling into the backseat, talking.  
Smith barked out a startled “hey!” as Colin pushed him aside.

In the backseat, pale, bloody, but alive, was Ross.  
He smiled a shaky grin up at Colin.  
“Hey.” He said, his voice thin and tired, but alive. Colin blinked back sudden tears. Ross reached up and took his hand, and they stayed there for a moment.

Ross finally broke the silence.  
“You didn’t think I would leave you so soon, eh?” Ross said, smiling tiredly up at Colin. His face was grimy with soot and blood, “Not when I have payment to collect on this case, you know.” He finished, and half smirked at Colin.

“Payment?” Colin smiled back at him. “Consider this a first installment.” He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Ross’ forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Mood Music:
> 
> 'Round Midnight - Thelonious Monk  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-yg7aZpIXRI


	8. Epilogue: Deep Night

The smouldering ruins of the waterfront club were dull against the cool predawn of the morning. A lone pair of polished wingtips stepped gingerly through the ashes of the skeletal building’s remains.  
It used to be a beautiful, expensive club right on the waterfront. Half the windows overlooked the calm ocean. They even had a dock for fancy yachts, but like most of the building, it hadn’t survived the inferno.  
The wingtips dodged piles of dust and ashes, and what looked like melted plastic. The owner of these shoes finally paused near the edge of the lot, looking out across the sea.  
“Hullo friend.” A voice broke into the silence. “Any leads?”  
A pair of heavy black boots had joined the owner of the wingtips.

“Nothing new.” Sighed the taller man, his blue eyes thoughtful. “I just keep coming back here, to the origin of the fire… There’s something about this that doesn’t sit right…”  
“You mean besides the club of Ridge the Don just going up in smoke?” The shorter ginger man snorted. “I mean, that’s pretty much par for the course here. He was pro’lly getting wise to the net we’d drawn around ‘im.” He glared down at the piles of ash.

The taller man shrugged, and went back to studying the edge of the burnt out building.

“The heat from the fire would’ve melted the glass…” He said, almost to himself. “Not shattered it… And yet….” He prodded at a shard of glass sitting on the concrete retaining wall, pushing it over the edge and sailing into the sea below.  
“Well mate, that’s why I asked you to consult on this case.” The shorter man broke the silence, “To solve these mysteries for us. You’ve made a real name for yourself since training, even with going in a… different direction.” He paused thoughtfully, “We’re honestly out of our league in many cases like this. I thought why not call up an old friend and cash in a favor, try and get this business all wrapped up, neat like.” He ended with a smile.  
The taller man seemed uncomfortable as he kept staring out across the sea. Or maybe he was just lost in thought. Sometimes the shorter man just couldn’t tell.  
“Anything you need, jus’ holler over at us.” The shorter man said over his shoulder, turning to leave. “I’ll be helping wit’ the digging in that back corner, trying to see if the basement is intact.”  
“Thank you, Commissioner Honeydew.” The taller man said, still looking out at the sea.  
“Now, now, we needn’t be so formal when it’s just us.” Honeydew laughed goodnaturedly, “I might be commissioner now, but we started out the same. You remember that beat we both patrolled? The year we graduated from training?”  
The taller man laughed, coming out of his thoughts “Oh, I could never forget that!” He smiled at the shorter one, his blue eyes crinkling with mirth.  
“It’s good to have you back, Director Xephos.” Commissioner Honeydew said with a smile.  
“We don’t have to be so formal, you remember what you just said?” Retorted Director Xephos, smiling down at the shorter man.

“Right then, Lewis.”  
“Alright Simon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Mood Music:  
> Deep Night - Sonny Clark  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NF58LtWdi2Q

**Author's Note:**

> Well here we go, a fic based on an idea I jokingly pitched to Roe one sleepless night.  
> Film Noir is such a great genre, and I love mobscast. It just seemed a natural blending of ideas...  
> Some more chapters to come. Take this journey with me?


End file.
